


i've waited a hundred years (i'd wait a million more for you)

by braveatheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Reunions, Songfic, Soulmates, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do, im obsessed with this song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braveatheart/pseuds/braveatheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ai beja yu daun, no ban ai op nodataim."</p><p>"Ai swega yu klin."</p><p>OR</p><p>Clexa reunion in another life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've waited a hundred years (i'd wait a million more for you)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy! I suggest listening to a piano cover of Turning Page by Sleeping at Last if possible. So much better that way!

It’s frigid outside. Inside the bustling coffee shop, it’s just early enough in the morning that the heat has not kicked in yet. Puffs of frozen breath can be seen from the rosy-cheeked regulars lining up for their daily cup of joe, and it does little to warm their aching, numbed hands. The barista, a tiny little ferocity of a girl, bounces from place to place behind the counter, hurriedly taking orders and handing off steaming coffees to patient customers. 

Clarke Griffin never used to be a morning person. However, when her mind began to flash with images she could only paint to understand them, she wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter. Her mind kept her from much sleep these days, and this morning is no different. 

Her hands wrap around the cardboard container, the protector doing little to keep the heat out of her calloused, paint-covered hands. She can’t say she minds, however. The heat soothes the cracks of her tired palms and the stiffness of her overworked joints. The coffee is too hot to drink yet, anyway, so she allows herself a few more moments of this bliss before taking a sip.

Though sleep does not come easily, she is still so, so tired. Clarke’s eyes fall shut for a moment as the bliss overwhelms her, and she is met with the same images always.

Her. Always her. Brunette hair sometimes pulled to the side in beautiful waves that remind Clarke of the most beautiful hillsides on Earth, sometimes braided intricately, a true art form in itself. Emerald green eyes that bare into every corner and crevice of the blonde’s soul, eyes that know her every thought. Dark war paint that sometimes drips down the brunette’s face in threatening spikes, but sometimes is no more than a dark ring around those haunting emeralds. The softest lips that wrote love on her skin like no one ever had, and never would again.

So many images fly through Clarke’s mind as she grips her cup, but the most familiar and most haunting one stays most prominent.

The brunette girl is inches from her face, and her eyes speak a thousand words that she could never say. They dart in disbelief back and forth between Clarke’s own blue ones, drinking in the tide as it comes. Her lips quiver uncontrollably, and she makes no move to stop it. The most achingly beautiful part of it all is the lone tear that trails down her beautifully soft cheek, a sight that Clarke knows was privy only to her. The memory makes an all too familiar lump rise in the blonde’s throat, and she swallows hard as her eyes flutter open, squinting against the rising morning sun. She takes a deep breath to steady her shaking frame.

This proves to be useless, however, when a sudden voice rips the air from her lungs in a split second.

“Could I have a cup of coffee with two creams and one sugar, please?”

Clarke freezes. The grip on her cup tightens, and for a moment, she fears that she may break the cardboard and make a mess of herself. Luckily, no such thing happens, and she’s left with the still hot container burning its way into her palms as she struggles to pull air into her lungs.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t know what possess her to do it, but the blonde turns her head ever so slightly, her eyes following the movement. She would never have been prepared for the sight that lie before her.

She’s wearing a red, blue, and light gray plaid button up. Beneath it, she wears a dark red tank top that peeks through the top of the button up where the buttons are left undone. The collar is disheveled and she appears to have made no effort to fix it yet. It’s hardly noticeable under the deep black jacket she wears over top her button up, and Clarke has to admire the way the black of her jacket and the black of her skinny jeans match nearly perfectly. It’s a fashion miracle nearly unheard of, and the blonde almost wants to laugh at how even now her wardrobe is impressive. Tight black boots lace up around the brunette’s calves and stop midway to her knees. She looks far too collected for seven in the morning, and Clarke’s almost jealous.

Suddenly, when she finally looks at the girl’s face, she fears she’s going to pass out. It’s everything she remembered. Her hair is down naturally and swept to the side, and the only difference now is that she does not don the dark ring around her eyes. It brings a sense of innocence and lightness that Clarke wishes she could have seen before now. However, she will not be ungrateful for the miracle, and decides that it was a sight worth waiting for.

The brunette freezes in her tracks as soon as the two of them lock gazes, and she doesn’t appear to be breathing. Her lips part in shock, and her emerald orbs dart between Clarke’s repeatedly. 

Somewhere, the blonde finds the strength to stand. Her hand shakes so badly that she nearly drops her coffee, and her knees do not seem willing to support her weight. She forces them to, however, and she takes a wobbly step forward. The world around her has all but disappeared. Her vision seems to have tunneled to her, to the only person that matters right now.

“It’s someday,” she whispers shakily, not caring that her voice cracks. 

The brunette does not speak. Instead, she takes a step toward Clarke. The blonde musters up all the courage she has and reaches her hand out. The brunette takes it, tremoring and shivering, and Clarke’s composure is nearly lost at the sudden touch. It is everything she had been dreaming of for the better part of a year now, and still, it is better than she could have ever imagined. 

Wordlessly, the two of them make their way out of the quickly filling coffee shop, and Clarke guides them. Her flat is just across the street, literally, and she makes quick work of getting the two of them upstairs. They both nearly fall on ice, twice, and Clarke almost trips up the stairs because she’s shaking so badly. 

When they finally reach Clarke’s flat, the blonde silently takes the coffee from the brunette’s hand and places both of their drinks on the table just beside the door. The two of them shed their jackets, which fall to a crumpled heap next to the table. When the jackets are shed and there’s nothing left to do, only then does Clarke manage to look up again.

Emerald gems bare into her, and she nearly crumbles. Before she can, however, a tender hand reaches out to grip her forearm, steadying her.

The name tumbles her lips without a second thought.

“Lexa.”

Lexa smiles, that same tearful smile as that fateful day, and Clarke doesn’t want to waste another second. She’s waited a hundred years for this.

The two of them step forward simultaneously, lips crashing together in a desperate need to be close as hands tangle in frozen hair. They grip tight, almost to the point of pain, but it still isn’t enough. They press their bodies flush against each other, closing every space imaginable until there’s not enough room for dust to pass between them. Warmth radiates from their bodies, and it slowly begins to warm the cold that’s settled in their souls all this time.

They stumble backwards slightly, bumping into the door. Breathy giggles erupt from the both of them, but they’re quickly cut off by needy lips and roaming hands. Clarke keeps one hand tangled in Lexa’s hair and lets the other roam down the brunette’s spine, her forefinger tracing every bump and edge. She begins at the base of Lexa’s neck, feeling tears well in her eyes as her hand runs across smooth skin there. It trails down until it reaches the small of her back, where it resides. She pulls Lexa closer, any distance far too great. Lexa shivers against her touch, and Clarke can’t help herself as she grins into the kiss.

When they break away for air, the blonde can taste salt. She becomes suddenly aware of the tears that have spilled over onto her cheeks. She’s not the only one; Lexa’s cheeks are a deep rose, and they are dampened by her own tears. She is far more emotional than in the memory that has haunted Clarke’s mind. The sight is infinitely more powerful, and it makes Clarke’s knees finally give out.

Lexa is there with her, and the two of them fall to their knees. Lexa wraps her arms wordlessly around Clarke and pulls her close, letting the blonde bury her face in her neck. Clarke accepts graciously and hides there as cries wrack her frail frame, exhaustion and bottled emotion causing her composure to be completely lost. Lexa cries, too, hot tears dripping onto Clarke’s exposed neck.

The two of them stay that way as Clarke begins to ramble.

“If only I’d known,” she stutters, her words hardly forming properly. She’s so overcome with emotion that she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to say what needs to be said.

Lexa runs her thumb across the small of Clarke’s back comfortingly, and the gentle touch is one she hasn’t felt in years. It breaks her down even further, and she shakes with sobs.

“I spent so much time hating you. I had thirteen days with you. Thirteen. And I wasted seven of them hating you.”

“I left you,” Lexa whispers, her voice coming out as a strangled whine. “I left you there to die.”

“God, if I had only paid attention,” Clarke says, brushing the comment off. She had long since forgiven Lexa, but she had never forgiven herself. “To your smile. Your blush. The way you curled your lip when you concentrated just enough.”

“Clarke…”

“To the way you looked at me. The way you never touched me unless I asked for it. The way you treated me with respect that no one else did. The way you acted like I wasn’t broken after everything I did.”

A sob breaks free as a final thought comes to mind.

“Like I was worth loving.”

“You were,” Lexa says firmly. Her arms tighten around Clarke’s body, and they settle back against the door. They’re laying in a position slightly uncomfortable, but neither of them have it in them to care. All that matters is that they’re here. “You always were. You always will be.”

“You rewrote my story, Lexa. You kissed me, and suddenly I wasn’t haunted by my demons. My rough edges smoothed,” Clarke babbles. These poetic words, bubbling beneath the surface for all this time, would not be held back any longer. They simply couldn’t be.

“You touched me and you redefined me. Suddenly I wasn’t a murderer, but someone who saved my people. Someone who did the right thing, even if it wasn’t the easy thing,” she says. “You turned my tragedy into a beautiful heroic. You were my turning page.”

“Your story was already beautiful, Clarke,” Lexa whispers, running her fingers through the blonde’s hair. Clarke whimpers as she hears Lexa’s voice cracking, and she tightens her grip around the brunette’s torso. “You just needed someone who let you see it.”

“Your story was beautiful, too,” Clarke replies suddenly. Lexa stills for a moment. “It was. You were a hero, Lexa. A visionary.”

The brunette doesn’t speak, but she resumes her movements. Clarke rubs comforting circles into her back, working out knots of stress as she does so.

“You were changing everything. You were trying to turn hell into heaven,” Clarke continues.

“I tried.”

The words are barely audible, and if Clarke weren’t listening intently, hanging onto her every word, she would have never noticed that Lexa said them. Her facade of strength and an unbreakable, unwavering support to lean on is all but gone. The brokenness beneath finally shows through, and this time, Clarke is going to fix it. She never had the chance, and she’ll be damned if she lets Lexa slip through her fingers again.

“You did everything you could, Lexa,” she says, sitting up in the brunette’s arms. The two of them lock eyes, and the usual strength in Lexa’s emerald greens has disappeared. Instead, they fill to the brim with unshed tears of years’ worth of grief and self hatred. Clarke leans upward and presses her lips to the brunette’s forehead, and she feels a shudder beneath her. A strangled cry comes shortly after, and Clarke repeatedly presses gentle, healing kisses to each part of Lexa’s face. She kisses away the tears, and the ones that fall afterward, too. She kisses the tip of Lexa’s nose. She kisses both her temples, gently, so as not to hurt her. She kisses her lips, passionately and forcefully, but with all the care and tenderness she has to give. Lexa responds immediately, her hand tangling back in Clarke’s long blonde locks without a second thought.

Clarke melts into the kiss, and as Lexa’s free hand begins to trace patterns on her sides, she feels her composure beginning to give way again. The kiss breaks when yet another aching sob rips through her throat. She collapses against Lexa’s chest, muttering apologies incessantly as she wraps her hand tightly around Lexa’s shoudler, searching for something solid to hold onto. Lexa’s fingers wrap around Clarke’s, a gentle reminder that she is there, and she is real.

“Ai ste hir, Klark.”

The language takes Clarke aback, but it is rolling off her tongue before she can think twice.

“Ai beja yu daun, no ban ai op nodotaim.”

Lexa’s reply is instant, immediate, and as their breathing begins to even out and exhaustion settles over them, Clarke knows that there’s no lie behind her words.

“Ai swega yu klin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback much appreciated! 
> 
> Translations, as requested for the two trigedasleng lines:
> 
> "Please, don't leave me again."  
> "I swear."


End file.
